The Most Dangerous Duke in London Read online

  “Truly, you do not want to—”

  “Call her. And tell your other sister to put the book down. Her arms must feel like lead by now.”

  Marwood scurried to his grandmother to share the request. The dowager sailed over to Adam while trying to appear calm. “I fear you misunderstand. For this match to come to a satisfactory conclusion, the bride must be Emilia. Clara’s character is above reproach, but she is not suitable for any man who desires domestic harmony.”

  “I only asked to meet Lady Clara. Nor have I agreed to any marriage yet.”

  “Before he died, my son specifically spoke with me about this alliance. I am only executing his own intentions. He said it should be Emilia—”

  “He wants to meet her, Grandmother.” Exasperated, Marwood raised his arm and gestured to his sister Clara to come in.

  The horse ceased pacing. The woman had seen and understood the instruction. She sat on that hill, her horse in profile, her head turned to them, gazing down. Then she pulled the reins hard. Her horse rose on its back legs so high that Adam feared she would slide out of her sidesaddle. Instead she held her seat neatly while she pivoted her horse around. She turned her back on them and galloped away.

  The lady had just slapped him in the face from a distance of six hundred yards.

  The dowager’s expression showed smug triumph beneath its veil of dismay. “How unfortunate she did not see my grandson’s signal.”

  “She saw it well enough.”

  “She is a bit willful, I will admit. I did warn you,” Marwood said.

  “You did not mention that she is rude and disobedient and quick to insult others if she chooses.”

  “I am sure she did not intend to insult you.” He gave his grandmother a desperate glare.

  “Sure, are you? Then please tell the grooms to bring my horse to the garden portal over there immediately. I will go and introduce myself to Lady Clara so I do not brood over her unintended cut and allow it to interfere with our families’ new friendship.” Adam bowed to the dowager. “Please give my regards to Lady Emilia. I am sure she and I will meet soon.”

  Chapter Two

  Clara galloped a good two miles away from the house. What had Theo been thinking, hailing her and gesturing for her to come in? She was hardly dressed to meet his guest. From Grandmamma’s stiff pose, she suspected only Theo thought it a good idea.

  She pulled in her horse and walked it over to a copse of trees. Putting Theo out of her mind, she dropped off the saddle onto a tree stump, hopped down, and pulled a sheaf of paper out of her saddlebag. She found a good spot beneath a tree, sat, and turned her attention to the pages. Her friend Althea had sent this yesterday, and she needed to read through it and send back her thoughts on it.

  She immersed herself in the prose, making a few marks with a pencil she had tucked in her bodice. Absorbed by her reading, she did not look up for at least a half hour. When she did she saw that she was no longer alone.

  A man watched her from a hundred feet away. His white horse contrasted with his dark coat and dark hair. The latter ended past his collar and bore none of the signs of being styled by a hairdresser aware of the current London fashions.

  She recognized him from the terrace. A notion nudged at her that she had perhaps seen him before that.

  Theo’s visitor had followed her. She thought that very bold. The way he just sat there and observed her only confirmed that he had no manners.

  She considered returning to her reading, then decided that might not be wise. It was one thing to pretend you had not seen your brother’s gesture for you to ride in, and another to pretend you did not see a man right in front of you.

  He paced his horse closer. She could see him better now. Displeasure hardened his mouth, which emphasized its sensual full lips. Dark eyes took her measure quite thoroughly. His black coat was not fashionably cut for London, but she knew French fashions well enough to recognize it as most appropriate for Paris. He wore a casually tied dark cravat.

  She thought him very handsome in a brooding, poetic way. Having known a few men of dark humor in the past, she had little interest in making another’s acquaintance, no matter how handsome he might be.

  He stopped his horse ten feet away. He did not dismount but towered above her. She considered standing, to bridge the distance, but decided not to. If he meant to frighten her, he would have to do better than this.

  “Good day, sir.” She allowed her voice to convey how unwelcome she found his intrusion.

  He swung off his horse. “Please forgive me the lack of a formal introduction, but I doubt you will mind since you are a woman who does not bother with such things overmuch.”

  “I am sure I do not understand what you mean.”

  The corners of that mouth turned up enough to indicate he knew she was lying. Indeed, that half-smile implied he knew everything about her.

  “You cut me back there, Lady Clara. That is what I mean.”

  “It is not possible to cut someone you do not know.”

  “You managed it all the same.”

  High-handed would be too kind a way to describe him. “You mentioned an introduction,” she said through a tight smile.

  He made a short bow. “I am Stratton.”

  Stratton? The Duke of Stratton? Here? Had Theo gone mad?

  No wonder he looked vaguely familiar. She had seen him years ago, across ballrooms, before his father died and he left England. When last in London ten days ago she had heard a mention or two that he had returned, but it was beyond comprehension that Theo had allowed him on the estate.

  He sidled over and assumed a casual stance right next to her, with one of his shoulders propped against the tree trunk. He folded his arms like a man who expected a lengthy chat.

  She scrambled to her feet, clutching the papers close to her chest so they did not fly across the hill.

  “I had no idea who you were. Even if I had tried to guess the identity of the man with my brother, your name would never have entered my head.”

  “Assuredly not. Our families have been enemies for decades.”

  “Theo is letting his new title go to his head if he received you. My grandmother must have been apoplectic.”

  “It was your grandmother who invited me here.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “The letter was from her, in her hand. It was most unexpected,” he said in a sardonic tone.

  She narrowed her eyes on him. “Yet you accepted her invitation.”

  “Your grandmother has been one of society’s bulwarks longer than I have been alive. The patronesses of Almack’s quake in her presence. I would never insult someone with such influence.”

  He teased her now. She doubted that he cared a fig for Grandmamma’s social influence. He did not look to be a man who would set aside his family’s pride and seek Grandmamma’s good word on his behalf.

  She should pack up Althea’s article and leave. Curiosity got the better of her, however.

  “Why did she invite you?”

  “She proposed a dynastic marriage with your sister, to end the animosity. To bury the past.” That half-smile again. “You can imagine my astonishment. It was much like your own right now.”

  Astonished hardly did her reaction justice. This only got odder and odder. Also increasingly annoying. She experienced a double feeling of betrayal. First on behalf of her father, who would have never approved of this idea. And second for herself, because she was not told, let alone consulted. Grandmamma must have used the full force of her will in keeping this a secret from her if even Emilia had not confided in her.

  “So when will the engagement be announced?” She let her high skepticism into her sarcastic tone.

  “I have not agreed to the match yet.”

  “My sister is both lovely and bright. She would make a splendid duchess, of course, only not for you. I am relieved you lacked decisiveness.”

  “Do not blame me for the delay in knowing my mind on the matter. There I wa
s, making my decision about a lovely dove, when a black crow flew by and distracted me.”

  Crow? Why, the—

  “Then the crow flapped her wings in my face and turned her tail to fly away.” He walked over until he loomed above her. “I never stand down from a challenge, Lady Clara.”

  If he thought she would tremble and blush, he was wrong. Except she did tremble a bit, while she noticed that his demeanor exuded a good amount of mystery and excitement and that his dark, deep-set eyes held layers that drew her in to the point of almost drowning. His proximity and his gaze left her tongue-tied for an embarrassing moment. Perhaps she did blush a little too.

  “Better if you had snatched up the dove while you could,” she said. “Now I have time to remind my grandmother that you will never do.”

  “I will do very well for her purposes.”

  “What are those?”

  “Don’t you know?” He cocked his head a fraction. “Perhaps you don’t.”

  It grew awkward, standing so close to him. She experienced a mix of alarm and . . . exhilaration. She stepped back and fussed with the stack of pages in her arms. “Excuse me.”

  She walked toward her horse. His tall, lean form soon warmed her side and his boot steps paced alongside her. “You are leaving without even a good day? You are determined to insult me, I think.”

  “I would be within my rights to shoot you, let alone insult you. You are trespassing on this property, no matter what else my grief-stricken grandmother may have said. You crossed the border between my brother’s land and mine a quarter mile back.”

  “And I would be within my rights to use my crop on your pretty tail in response to your behavior.”

  She stopped walking and glared at him. “Such a threat is beyond the pale. Try that and I will certainly shoot you. Do not doubt it. I am not a woman who quakes when faced with stupid masculine bravado. Any gentleman with proper breeding would have allowed the misunderstanding regarding my brother’s instructions to pass. It is outrageous that you felt entitled to follow me and then berate me. Now, I will be on my way, and you can be on yours.”

  She strode on to her horse. He paced alongside her again. She wanted to hit him with Althea’s manuscript, he annoyed her so much.

  “Are you a writer?” His hand reached out and he flicked the corners of the pages. That brought his arm close to her body. An inner jolt almost had her jumping away.

  “A friend wrote this. It is an essay on—” She caught herself. “I am sure it would not interest you.”

  “Perhaps it would.”

  “Then I am sure it is none of your business.”

  “Not a writer, but a bluestocking.”

  “Oh, how I hate that word.” She stuffed the pages into the saddlebag. “You just spent years in France. They are reputed to celebrate cultural women. If you give me that moniker simply because you found me reading, apparently you did not learn much while you were there except how to be irritating.”

  She picked up the reins and positioned her horse.

  “Allow me to assist you.” He moved closer.

  “Please, just go away.” She quickly stepped onto the tree stump. With a jump and a pull she got herself back into the saddle.

  “Admirably done, Lady Clara. I see that you are independent in all things.”

  She swallowed a groan at his comment. “Do you think I am so witless as to get off a horse if I had no way to get back on?”

  As she turned the horse to ride away, she saw the duke’s expression. Humor softened that face somewhat, but within the mind behind those dark eyes, calculations formed.

  * * *

  Adam watched Lady Clara ride away.

  What a provocative woman. Bright-eyed and vivacious still, but also more lovely, with a creamy complexion and strands of flame mixing with her brown hair.

  Spirited. Too spirited, most men would say. He was not one of them. He liked highly spirited, self-possessed women. He preferred if they did not treat him with disdain, of course. He would excuse her. This time. The dowager’s plans had taken Lady Clara unawares—as they had him—and the enmity between their families made her rudeness understandable.

  He would also excuse her because he had wanted her immediately on seeing her under that tree, and more by the time they parted. Desire always encouraged generosity.

  He mounted, but rode east, not back to Marwood’s house to the west. There was no need to return there and to the road. If he continued this way for several miles, he should soon be on his own land.

  He crossed well-tended farms and passed through one hamlet of houses. Was this still Lady Clara’s property? If so, her father’s legacy had been significant. No wonder Marwood spoke of it with resentment.

  Only when he crested a low rise in the land did he realize just where he was. He recognized the town he approached from its mill. He could barely make out the wide stream that snaked north and south. Marwood’s property met his own in places along that stream.

  He trotted his horse forward, thinking about the dowager’s offer, as dictated by the late earl. The earl had reasons for seeking a peace treaty. Adam thought he knew what they were. But even near death, a man’s character did not change, it appeared.

  The last earl had schemed to ensure he won an old contest, even while having his mother offer an olive branch in the hopes of protecting his son.

  * * *

  Clara tied a ribbon around Althea’s essay, and tucked her page of notes on top. Althea was a fine writer. However, when she cared deeply about a cause or event, she veered from opinion into polemic. It would not take much to change this so it did not display that failing.

  She set it into a low drawer in the writing table she used in the library. While she did, her brother Theo entered the chamber, saw her, and glared. Then he went to the decanters and poured himself some brandy.

  “You ruined it,” he said through clenched teeth. “All was well in hand, and you had to insult him to the point he forgot everything else.”

  She had seen neither Theo nor her grandmother upon returning, so this was the first chance her brother had to upbraid her. Not that she would allow that.

  “If you had told me you would be receiving Stratton, I would have kept well away, I assure you.”

  “It was Grandmother’s idea, but sound in its own way.”

  “Papa would never have approved. If there is to be a rapprochement between our families, let them take the first step.”

  He smirked down at his brandy, then at her. “You have not been in London much the last half year. You have not been partaking of society at all while in mourning. So you have not heard about him, have you?”

  “I would not have paid attention anyway, because he has nothing to do with me. With any of us. That is how it has been since at least Grandfather’s time.” She had been raised with the lesson. Her father—dear Papa—had not had to speak of it much to pass on the tradition of family acrimony.

  “Unfortunately, he is not like his father. Or any of the others. He is . . . dangerous.”

  She laughed. “He did not appear dangerous to me.” Except he had. All that brooding had a lot to do with it. If she ever saw him again, she would be tempted to tickle him until he laughed like a fool, just to defeat the power of that dark mood he carried.

  “He is not dangerous to women.” Theo’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

  Well, now, she was not sure she agreed with that either.

  “He duels, Clara. He has killed two men, and almost a third one. In France. The slightest provocations and he calls men out. He will not stand down. It is rumored he had to return to England because the French authorities told him to leave their country.” Theo threw back the rest of his brandy. “He is a killer.”

  Theo’s posture shrank while he spoke. His brow furrowed. His blue eyes took on a distant gaze toward nothing. Clara was older than Theo by three years and had watched him grow up. She could tell that her brother was afraid.

  She stood and walked o
ver to him. “He is hardly going to kill you, Theo. Not over some old family argument begun before either of you were born.”

  “What better way to win that argument? One wrong word, one bad look, and he will have his excuse.”

  “You are being too dramatic.”

  “Grandmother agrees. Mock my judgment if you want, but will you so quickly mock hers?”

  Stratton’s explanation of his visit made sense now, but in a most ridiculous way. Grandmamma’s grief had taken an unfortunate turn if she saw such a threat in the duke. As for Theo . . . He was brave when there was little danger, but less so when threats flew.

  “I assume the thinking was if you are his brother-in-law, he would never want to duel with you,” she said. “That is a high price to pay for peace, brother. And what of Emilia? If he has such a temper, is it fair to tie her to him?”

  “I said he is not dangerous to women, didn’t I?”

  “You do not know that for certain. If we do not even sit at a table with that family, we should not arrange matches with them.”

  “Grandmother—”

  “You are the earl now. You must think for yourself.”

  “What ridiculous advice, Clara. He is barely out of school.” Grandmamma entered the library as she spoke. “I’ll not have you further complicating the matter by urging Theo to an unseemly independence from my advice.”

  “I am twenty-one,” Theo muttered, flushing.

  “Are you? Well, a year more or less hardly signifies.”

  “I am not complicating anything,” Clara said.

  Her grandmother sat down. Back straight and head angled just so, she assumed the pose of the queen of all she surveyed. At the moment that included Clara.

  “Your behavior today meant the duke left before I—we—could settle things. If that is not a complication, what is it?”

  “A reprieve. For Emilia. For all of us, while you reconsider this extraordinary notion of marrying her to that man.”

  “He seemed suitable enough to me. Too French, but what can you expect with that mother of his, and the way he stayed abroad all this time. Still, a few weeks and he will step into his correct role in life and do what he must to reclaim his place among us. He knows that he needs to wed a girl with your sister’s impeccable breeding, and we will benefit by having him close, where we can keep an eye on him so the past cannot harm Theo.”